


The lamb and the knife

by love_coloured



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Resolved Sexual Tension, Scars, Sexual Tension, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 08:43:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12744912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/love_coloured/pseuds/love_coloured
Summary: Nightingbee. An idle prank, a forbidden sanctuary, a collection of scars, a disarming.





	The lamb and the knife

**Author's Note:**

  * For [commoncomitatus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/commoncomitatus/gifts).



> I have really enjoyed commoncomitatus' works, you're one of the few authors who writes rare Sera pairs, and a part of the reason I ship Sera/Leliana now. So I was really pretty nervous about writing this, and my life situation hasn't been so good for writing in the past month. I sweated a lot and made tons of coffee the last few days to get it done. Nonetheless I really hope you like it! I'm so into their possible dynamics that I could probably write endless permutations of these themes. It's truly a privilege to have filled your request. :)

“Hah! Four serpents!” Flissa, red-faced and deep into her 4th pint, slammed her cards on the table and took a hearty victory swig. To Sera’s right, Blackwall scowled at his hand. A few straggling patrons at the corner tables craned their necks at the outburst.

“Ah, piss...” How many candle marks had it been? Sera couldn’t even remember what she’d bet, but judging by Flissa’s excessively satisfied expression, it was either risky or risque.

Blackwall rose with a grunt. “I’m out for tonight, ladies. Happy carousing.”

“That’s right, out with ya, sore loser!” She snatched Blackwall’s half-empty mug and finished it off before heaving herself halfway across the table, breath hot and sour in Sera’s face. “You prooomised last time! Right here, now.” She smacked her own cheek. “Plant it quick, or owe me on the lips next week.”

Flissa was pretty enough, and roaring good company when in her cups, but she was like this with nearly everyone. Sera suspected a certain “curiosity” in her, one which she was unwilling to indulge any further. “Daft sot, I never promised that! Think you lost your bloody brains down that cup.” Tonight’s revelry had been courtesy of Flissa, so she owed _something_ , perhaps. Just not _that_ , not after the last time.

“Alright, alright,” Flissa pouted, but brightened just as quickly when the tavern door creaked open. A rare enough sight around closing time, but rarer still was the sight of the Inquisition’s reclusive seneschal, perpetually in her cloak and full armor. To Flissa’s amusement, Sera visibly blanched.

“ _Warden Blackwall, a word about...”_ Sera could make out no more of their whispers before they left, but she was certain Leliana’s eyes had met hers, if only for a second. She sank into her cup, felt like melting into the floor.

“Ooh, you do fancy her, don’t ya? I bet you can’t guess what I’m thinkin’ up for you now...”

“Keep that shite up, and I’ll put an arrow _right_ in your--” she was interrupted by raucous laughter instead of the expected apology. Indignant now, her lip curled and she felt the heat rise to her skin. The ale did not do her composure any favors to begin with.

Flissa tented her fingers and gave a cunning glance, or as cunning as possible under heavy influence. “Hey… if you really can pick _any_ lock...”

“That’s enough of you,” Sera warned, stiffening in her chair.

“You still owe me for this round and last round. Bring me the Nightingale’s smalls, and we’ll call it even, alright?”

“You’re friggin’ mad! Piss off.”

“And you’re a coward. Lost your touch? Or are ya afraid of her wrinkly little attack nugs? Oho, _that_ must be it!”

The last few drinks felt stronger than normal, or maybe she’d downed them too quickly, but Sera felt a righteous pride well up in her chest. She set her jaw and looked Flissa in the eye. “’Course I’m not... and ‘course I can.” She smiled. It was practically in her grasp already: the luxurious silks trimmed with lace, ribbons and…

“If you could see your face right now!” Flissa howled, and was promptly silenced by a disgruntled Cabot dragging her out the door.

–

It was nothing much-- just a bit of a prank, right? But it felt strange to take on something this risky with no weapons. Sera had rarely had the opportunity to speak long with Leliana-- a professional chat here and there, a greeting, a shared look. She always stood a little bit straighter in her presence just in case the spymaster found reason to dig too deeply. Not that Josephine’s correspondence with her had been worrying, really. Leliana appeared to regard Sera with detached amusement at worst.

It was something else that frightened Sera. Not the threat of uncovered secrets, as she herself had little to hide and less to lose-- a few friends, perhaps, but she was accustomed to that. As for the threat of hidden blades, she’d survived enough of those. Surely there were worse ways to die than by the knife of a lovely bard, if it came to that. _Demons, Blights, alienages, bloody Denerim in flames._ She’d take the bard every time.

The ravens ruffled their feathers in the dark, occasionally making sleepy chuckles and croaks. Sera paid them no mind and cloaked herself in the margins of the tower, adjusting her vision to the dying flicker of a candle in the altar. For the last time, she slid her fingers over her belt and smiled as she counted each implement. The path to her prize looked clear, but--

Something, or someone, breathed there in the dark. Petrified, she shrank into the wall behind a stack of crates. The breathing became a sigh, almost a sob strangled on the wing. Something about it turned her blood cold, yet drew her closer.

The Nightingale knelt there in the candlelight, divested of armor, body bowed so deeply that she was nearly on the floor. At her side was an opened chest of the kind Sera had set her sights upon, but instead of ruffles, silks and leather, it was full to bursting with what appeared to be letters or documents. She began to murmur, just loud enough for Sera to make out. _“Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting...”_

A few pages were strewn about the floor, and one partially crumpled in her hands. She tilted her head back in contemplation of the altar and her hair glowed red-amber against the light like a veil of flame. Sera felt a flush on her cheeks at the eerily beautiful scene. Whether it was Leliana or Andraste arousing such feeling in her, she couldn’t say, and she wondered if that in itself was a blasphemous thought.

“ _You have brought sin to heaven. And doom upon the--”_ Leliana shifted suddenly, made wary by something Sera could neither see nor hear. Her head jerked first to the right, and Sera ducked and slipped into the shadows before she could turn around. What little sound there was seemed to bounce from rafter to rafter in the drafty old chamber, and she paused for a split second-- a fatal mistake-- before the shadow overtook her, light as a feather and inevitable as death. Cold steel licked her throat, halting just short of breaking the skin, and her vein pulsed against the edge. Sera shuddered, but did not move or cry out.

“Oh… it’s you,” Leliana breathed into her ear, her tone both deceptively casual and, somehow, disappointed. She loosened her grip on Sera’s arm but declined to withdraw her blade. “So _delightful_ to be graced by your company this evening, but I’ll require an explanation. You understand, do you not?”

A part of Sera wanted to fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness. Her body quivered, and she knew Leliana could feel it. Still she swallowed the whine that was rising in her throat and straightened her shoulders, even as she felt the blade creasing her skin. “Yeah. I kinda deserved that, didn’t I?” Between trespassing and voyeurism, and whatever confusing knots were being tied in her stomach, her sins were surely innumerable and dire.

The next few seconds felt like hours as Leliana’s cool stare battled with her own. The dagger lifted almost imperceptibly from her skin, and was lowered with a sigh. “I’m not done with you yet. Whatever you’re hiding, you should reveal it now.” Leliana’s fingers took the place of the blade, icy against her skin. Her hands slipped under Sera’s thin cloak and traced their way over her bare shoulders and-- sweet Andraste!-- under her breasts, pausing when they found the belt at her waist. “Of course,” she muttered as she accounted for the lockpicks. “Is that all?” She knelt to search Sera’s boots and made her way agonizingly up her inner thighs, holding her gaze all the while.

“You could at least buy a girl a drink first,” Sera sputtered.

Leliana quirked an eyebrow at that. Her hands lingered far too long in Sera’s estimation, but her expression gave nothing away. “You are not armed,” she stated plainly, and rose to her feet.

Sera shifted uneasily, half relieved but sensing that she was on unfamiliar terrain. “No point, right? If you really wanted it, I’d already be dead...” The thought formed as she was speaking it, words stretching out between them.

Leliana stared back at her. “Explain yourself, then.” She turned heel for a moment and put a single step of distance between them.

“It’s stupid...” Sera slumped onto a nearby storage crate and put her head in her hands. _Nothing could ever be quite this stupid,_ she thought. She had to tear herself away from the vision of her hands around Flissa’s neck. “See, I made this bet with Flissa, and things got out of hand--” No knives were being pulled, so she cautiously continued. “Well, it’s like this, I can’t pay her back, so she asked for your-- your underpants… ah, shit.”

Leliana’s eyes widened. “Truly?” She laughed, loud and clear as a bell. It was the first time Sera had seen her really laugh. It made her even prettier, and she desperately wanted to see it again.

“You’re... less scary without the hood.” She stopped just short of another kind of compliment.

“And you had a knife at your throat mere moments ago. Remember?” Leliana replied disdainfully and with sudden venom. “It is foolish to work unarmed.”

Sera leaned in and shrugged. “Yeah...” Reflexively she ran a finger over her pristine neck, marveling at the skill in Leliana’s touch, her mind wandering again. “Don’t blame you, though, and no harm done? So we’re practically golden.”

Leliana was standing next to the altar now, looking up at the figure of Andraste, and the light tunic she wore betrayed the curve of her hips enchantingly. “You only had to ask, you know.”

“Ask… what?”

Motionless, she spoke to the altar, or perhaps to no one in particular. “Who knows? The tongues of bards tell many tales...”

Sera’s heart quickened; she closed the distance. Leliana smelled faintly of old parchment and ritual incense, and the sweet place where her hair fell over her nape was compellingly near. To take her by the waist, breathe into her neck and press her into the wall by her hips would be so easy.

Leliana tipped her head back slightly as an acknowledgment, not quite an invitation. “How can you be so confident? Don’t tell me you have not heard the tales.”

Her dagger still hung from her hip. Sera felt its handle, hard against a very soft place, and pressed on. “Those mucky stories for bored noblewomen, sure.” She could almost feel Leliana breathing, now. “Andraste trusts you. That’s enough for me.” The resulting laughter jolted her out of her reverie.

“If only that were true!” She finally faced Sera again, and there was a strange sorrow in her eyes. “How foolish...”

Sera did not know whether the remark was aimed at her, or at Leliana herself, but neither did it trouble her much. “It _is_ true.” That much she could feel. If Andraste could bless even the blood-stained hands of a bard, then maybe there was hope for her, too.

Leliana was sinking back into the wall, pulling Sera along with her. “Are you quite certain there won’t be a knife in your back at daybreak?“

“Mhm,” Sera grunted and set about the task she was given. Leliana’s tales turned to grateful sighs as she yielded her throat easily under Sera’s mouth, clung to her shoulders for dear life. Her body rippled like water, giving and flowing around every touch. Sera pulled at her tunic, where she desperately wanted to be touched, and her exposed skin glowed in the candlelight, so warm and so close that Sera hesitated before touching her there. She felt Leliana’s body stiffen and glanced up, concerned.

She felt it first-- a cruel, raised scar just above the crest of the hip, thrown into relief by the angle of the light. A deep wound, one that hadn’t healed properly and was tended too late, the kind made by a twisting knife. She looked up at Leliana, and traced it with her fingers, almost reverently. “I’m sorry, I--” She wanted to say that she understood, or something like that, but the right words wouldn’t come. She bowed her head, felt fingers prodding urgently on the back of her neck, and kissed her there. “It’s-- you’re beautiful,” she stammered.

Leliana shook her head, bitterly. “Beauty is not-- no, no, I’m sorry. Sera, I...” The mask fell and revealed confusion, as if she were genuinely lost for words. In the silence her fingers committed to memory Sera's every feature, from the arch of her cheekbones and coming to rest on her lips.

“Yeah. I know.” It hardly mattered to Sera that she wasn’t sure what she was agreeing with; Leliana spoke her name so sweetly that she felt she would do anything to make her smile again.

She closed her eyes and for a moment Sera could see the weight of years, of deeds and betrayals that burned their history into her flesh. “I cannot make promises. Not after… that is, not now...”

“Didn’t ask for one.” Sera blushed and averted her eyes. “Well, not yet, anyway.” With one hand she painted a path from the hollow of Leliana’s hip, over the softness that hinted at muscle beneath, and higher—with the other, she reached for the belt that both impeded her progress and held the dagger.

Leliana caught her hand, guiding it slowly-- not to where she wanted and needed it, but to the pearl handle of the blade, and closed her hand around Sera’s trembling fingers. She understood, and the blade landed on the stone with a clatter. The hand that so deftly took life curled around her neck and pulled her in, to kiss her for the first time.

Andraste stood in silence as the candles snuffed themselves out, as Sera made a prayer for every scar.

 


End file.
